When Christoph Clark’s good, he’s very, very good. And when he’s not, he authors something on the order of Euro Angels 7¸a two-hour endurance test for the viewer that’s, primarily, a meditation on the art of trick-or-treat masturbating. Or so it would indicate, given costuming that encompasses everything from vinyl wear and asks to crotchless fishnets.

The attack of the one-name girls continues with lots of twat-fiddling and dildo-sucking to fill out the time slot. Rarely does the substance of the tape approach the chemistry elicited by Clark and Vanda in the show’s closing butt-fuck, but Jil Anderson gives it a try in a sequence shot in one of those new-fangled Euro-sun spas. The fact that carcinoma’s more exciting is not specifically Anderson’s fault. The other scenes, though all evenly lensed, are even less intriguing.